Maybe next time
by TheRussianGaaraKid
Summary: This is a Hetalia fic about Greece and Turkey or rather Ottoman Empire based on a quote by Erick Fromm which inspired me to write this fic. There is character death, thus tragedy, but nothing graphic. This is my first time really doing this and I'd like to thank both my betas KokoLolo and hetalia-deathnote-kuroshitsuji for all their help... enjoy.


Title: Maybe next time~

Anime: APH/ Hetalia

Characters: Greece and Turkey

Genre: Family/ Tragedy

* * *

_**A/N: Hello readers! I know it's weird to post so soon, but I really wanted to write this. So this quote struck me very hard because it rings true and made me feel awful. I love my mother and I know she loves me too (she put up with me for this long, didn't she?), but even now I can see how much I've strayed away from my mother and it's sad. I can't help but see this quote and think of Greece. Initially I was going to do Ancient Greece and Greece of today, but then I thought why not have the story be about Greece and Turkey? I had a thought that maybe Greece only hates Turkey as a teenager would hate a mother, out of rebellion. Is this weird? Probably, but I like weird so I hope you like it. NOT A YAOI!**_

**Note: I do NOT own Hetalia, this quote or history in general… but the idea for this fic is mine.**

* * *

**Maybe next Time**

"_The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent." -Erich Fromm_

The figure of a young child hunched over the fresh ruins of what used to be Ancient Greece would haunt most people. In fact, the idea that a child being left defenseless and without a mother probably makes even the most hardened of hearts quiver, even just a bit. However, for the man standing in the shadows of the broken columns, the sight was one he had seen many times before. Ancient societies were always the hardest to see go, the older they got the more you knew you should saver the moments you got together. Most Ancient societies live long and vanish quickly, but for Ancient Greece, she had a slow downfall.

What was worse for her was that her son, Heracles, was just so young and had depended on her. She had done all she could to teach him right from wrong, of philosophy and astrology. Long hours were spent out in the vast open fields at night gazing up in the sky trying to spot various constellations. During the day, Ancient Greece would take young Heracles over to the temple to teach him of the Gods, knowing full well that he was not fond of learning them and wanted to play. She knew of his love for naps and fondness of cats, but for the sake of her beloved people and the future of her only son, she pushed him to learn, often making him upset.

"Why can't I go and play with the kitties?" Heracles whined as he was taken yet again to the temples, but this time to learn mathematics from one of the nobles.

"I'm sorry Heracles, maybe another time," would be his mother's words, but he knew another time would not come for a long while.

He'd seen his mother becoming weaker and weaker and in most cases she wouldn't even have the energy to cradle the petite brunette when he wanted attention. Instead she would lay there on a bed and Heracles would automatically lie next to her. Mother and son would take naps together, but in a couple of days Ancient Greece no longer had the strength to even stand on her own. She would lay there on the bed with the curly haired brunette by her side, whining for her to go out with him.

"Can we go out together to watch the stars?" the child would ask, hopeful that his mother would finally leave the bed.

"I'm tired Heracles, maybe another time," she whispered as a woman came in with a fresh pitcher of water for her.

When the morning would come, if possible, she looked worse, but as a child Heracles didn't know what it meant. As most children he was selfish and wanted her to take care of him, he wanted the attention on him.

"Μaμάit's time to go to the temple!" Heracles called from the door, already wearing his white tunic. He waited for his mother's recognition, but was met with none. He growled as he stomped over, fed up with feeling abandoned and yelled out, "Come on! Don't tell me another time, I want to go now! Please!" he begged, but upon not seeing any movement the child huffed and left the room only to regret it for the rest of his life.

Later on that day he found out from one of the maids that his μaμά was with the Olympians because, unlike everyone else who went to Hades, he and his mother were special. He cried for days on end and was subject to various pains that nearly killed him. His people were revolting and attacking each other. Weakness soon overtook him and Macedonia called him his own servant, he was treated horribly.

Soon Macedonia had left him after years of being subject to being used and having many hardships; but even as the years passed Heracles had not aged a bit. Sure he had learned many things, but he was still just a young child aching from the terrible decisions his citizens made and the strain of things he still had no idea how to handle. The brunette wanted his mother back to assure him that things were going to be fine and that no one was going to hurt him, but she was gone. She was gone and was never to come back. He had been so rude and selfish in her last minutes of life that he knew he deserved all that has happened to him.

Looking down at the ruins of the temples he had once been able to play in, he felt himself crouch into a ball. Using his tiny arms he managed to get ahold of his knees and put his forehead onto his them. Flashes of his mother popped into his head as he stayed in that spot, wallowing in his misfortune. Sure, he wanted to cry and scream out in frustration, but his μaμά always taught him that he was a big boy and big boys don't fuss like newborns. He would have to be strong and lead his people even if he was hurt and felt horrible.

Sniffling, the brunette moved to sit in the grass and just stared at the ruins that lay there in perfect peace. It was quiet enough that Heracles wanted someone to scream at him or order him around just to get rid of the silence.

"Hey kid, get up," The distant growl of an elder man erupted from behind him. It was a voice the young boy had never heard before— and he was sure he'd never heard this kind of accent either. "You've been like that for hours; you're going to get sick."

Heracles shifted his pasture green eyes over to the source of the harsh yet oddly comforting words, only to he met with a fairly strange spectacle. The man who had called him was wearing a rather long bright red and gold coat with a huge matching hat (with a massive feather coming out of it) and a mask that obscured most his face. He seemed to have a rather tanned face and had some whiskers. The man was tall, much taller than himself which made the young Greek nation shuffle back to get some distance.

Overall from the looks of the man and the obvious accent, this person had to be from beyond the boarders and if that were so… then this couldn't be good. He had already been taken over and he didn't want that to happen again.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Heracles demanded as he took out the small dagger from the sheath hanging from the belt of his plain white tunic. It was hidden behind a red sash that he always wore after the death of his mother in order to honor her. Shaking a bit he held the dagger up and glared at the foreigner with open disdain.

"My name is Sadiq Adnan, but you may call me the Ottoman Empire," the man replied in a cocky tone before lowering himself to Heracles' height and snatching the dagger away from his tiny pudgy fingers. "Maybe next time you'll be smart and not take out a weapon at someone you cannot beat," he snickered as the Greek child stared in shock at the glint of the huge sword hanging from the Turk's belt. It was huge!

"Give me back my dagger!" Heracles ordered, trying to regain his composure in front of the elder nation before him. He was not going to show this foreigner any weakness.

"You have some nerve, you know?" The empire growled as he picked the child up by the back of his tunic and carried him over his shoulder. Smirking, the Turk merely kept walking as the child began kicking and screaming to be put down.

"Let me down you crazed demon, the Gods will have a field day with when they find out! My mother will..." The puny Greek nation immediately quieted at his own mention of his mother. He kept forgetting that no matter how much he wanted her to save him or even just appear to him, it was impossible. She was gone for good and if he didn't want to be taken over again he'd have to deal with it himself.

Surprised by the sudden end to the child's tirade, the Turk slowed down wondering if the child had suddenly gotten sick or had fallen asleep. None of that seemed feasible since the child had been fine just a second ago and who falls asleep while screaming? Certainly not this child he had been harboring.

"Hey, kid? What are you up to?" Sadiq narrowed his eyes as he felt the child tense up as though he were getting himself ready to attack or at least try to escape. In an attempt to foil the child's efforts the elder nation tightened his hold on the rather skinny legs and began to take longer steps. Now if the kid happened to somehow get out of his grip he'd have to fall from a high distance and at a faster speed. He'd have to think twice about doing anything too rash.

Heracles how ever made no moves to try and escape, in fact he was still and remained still for a while. Concern had begun to etch its way further and further into the Ottoman's mind as the scene changed from the ruins to fresh pasture to rocky terrain only to end up by the ocean. Had the child really fallen asleep?

Turing over to a nearby rock Sadiq decided it had been time to have a rest, although the child was pretty light, the weight on his shoulder for over seven hours had put a major impact on his stamina and left him fatigued.

The rock had been one he had passed a couple of time when he'd passed the boarders of his empire and went into the young nation's rich land. He had seen the various changes that had happened after Ancient Greece had fallen in the way she had. The poor boy had been left alone to take on a huge mess. His warriors were fighting against each other in a state of utter mess, as was his land and he had no money. Poverty had hit the once rich and luxurious land. He'd watched in the shadows as the boy fought every way possible against his "bosses"; he wanted independence and eventually he got it. Never once had the Turk seen the child cry, even when he would feel the harsh pains associate with being a nation or the frustration of a new society having to be brought up from nothing.

Settling down the Turk carefully pulled the child from his shoulder and stared down at the pale face in surprise. The fact the child was asleep didn't really bother or surprise him, but something else did. The face he had watched for years had finally shown the one emotion he had seen yet and yet it depicted something else. Strangely enough Heracles had a serene look to his face, it wasn't angry or sad, just peaceful. Then the streaks running from his eyes down to his jaw line had puzzled the Turk. How could he be sad and peaceful? Weren't they opposites? Laying the child across his lap, the masked Sadiq carefully took the canteen from his bag and took a piece of cloth wetting it enough to wipe away the evidence the child had finally broken.

Wincing a bit at the contact of the cold wet cloth hitting his face, Heracles continued to keep to his slumbering state. He'd felt good for once, there was warmth that surrounded him and he didn't have to worry about anything until he woke. What more could he possibly want? Even if the heartbeats filling his ears were louder and had a different rhythm from his mother's, that fact somebody was just holding him gave him peace. Even if he missed his mother he still had someone (even if it was the strange smelling Ottoman who was really harsh to him).

Sliding his arms around Sadiq's shoulder the young Greek made himself fall back into the deep sleep he had been under before being interrupted by an inanimate object. He smelt the various scents of spices and perfume hit his nose, confusing his senses. Oddly, they weren't overpowering, just different. In no time Heracles was back asleep but Sadiq couldn't keep his eyes off the child. Sure, children were usually accepting, but this nation was several decades old now, he was no babe, so why was he acting in such a way?

Tiredly, Sadiq adjusted his hold on the curly hair brunette and drank some of the water from the canteen, wondering what to do now. He had not intended to take the boy until the situation in his lands had gotten better so he'd actually have a chance to put up a fight, but upon seeing the child look abandoned and weak… he just acted. His boss was not going to be happy with his decision... then again, when did he ever really listen to the old man?

Staggering up with the boy now in his arm, Sadiq made his way back to his house. If the child was like this now he'd have to teach the kid about how to defend himself and be a nation. It wasn't as easy as most believed.

As time went by, Sadiq had trained Heracles in the ways of his people and of other nations in preparation to live on his own. Yes, he was harsh on the young teenager, but it was the only way to make sure he had learned what he was supposed and it did make him stronger. Although something unexpected occurred during the time the Turk had kept the child with him. He had found that he had gotten softer; he made sure no harm had been bestowed upon Heracles, but then he started going the extra mile.

Whenever the Greek child had been left to himself to roam the town in hopes he'd find some way to entertain himself, the Turk had found himself following close behind. He would follow the green eyed child as he wander off towards the more secluded areas and just lay there for naps. He'd often have many felines with him as he found them much easier to deal with than the cruel children in the town.

Often the Turk would have Heracles follow him around while he went about the town for errands and have the Greek child hold onto his coat in shame. Most time he would catch the glares of the children and the rather loud chuckles, but he'd ignore them as he placed a reassuring hand on the brunette's head. Somehow the older nation knew how much Heracles had suffered because he was very different even when the Greek child said nothing to him.

"Go back to your own country, foreigner!"

"Yeah, go away!"

"Nobody wants you here!"

"Cat lover!"

"Look at that weird curl. Let's cut it!"

"Such an ugly boy."

"You don't look like us, so you can't join us. Just leave."

Heracles would just stand there and take the insults as his heart broke with every word being uttered. Children were quite harsh when young, and especially when there was fresh meat to just tear into and destroy. But the Greek boy just stood a few feet away from the crowd of giggling children, playing in their groups with his trusted cat. He knew better than to throw a fit or cry about the situation, but that didn't stop him from crying every night when he was sure Sadiq was gone or asleep. What he didn't notice was that from the door the Turk stood watching him cry his little eyes out feeling guilty for subjecting him to the torture by bringing him there.

As soon as the brunette had fallen asleep from exhaustion and dehydration the Turk finally moved out of his place by the door and moved over to the boy. Carefully he'd pick the child up as one would a babe and held him close as he rocked the child soothingly; he knew the boy was already asleep, but he wanted to make the child feel even a miniscule amount of safety and warmth. He'd found this was the easiest way to ensure it was given.

"Sorry about the kids Hera, it's not your fault," he whispered sadly as he felt the child snuggle closer to his body. "Maybe next time they'll let you join in."

Sadly, that never happened, and over and over again the child was disappointed as the teasing and mental abuse continued. Every night the therapy continued, and as the Greek child got older the crying was reduced to just sighs of frustration. Sadiq however, still managed to help out by speaking gently to the younger nation or to just tell the brunette stories to bring the child away from the sad memories.

As times passed and the Greek boy turned into a man; the day Sadiq feared had finally come. Heracles had become stronger than he was and he had a vast amount of knowledge to accompany that strength. The Turk however was not ready to have the Greek nation he had watched grow and learn, leave him to be all by himself. He had taken to rejecting every one of Heracles' pleas to be given independence giving him weak reasons for refusing his independence.

"Can I have my freedom now?"

"No. Maybe another time, when you can fix your economic standing on your own."

"Now can I be free?"

"You're so ungrateful. Why don't you want to stay with me after all I've done for you?"

"When will I get my independence?"

"Maybe next time, you have to learn much more before you're on your own."

"I want my independence!"

"Maybe in another year, you're not strong enough!"

This had gone on for years until the Greek child had had enough of being protected from the outside world and deprived of his rightful place. He knew what Sadiq was up to, he'd known for a while, but that was the last straw. He wasn't going to be babied any longer.

"Sadiq," Heracles growled out in annoyance as the Turkish man lounged on one of his many pillows on the floor enjoying some fresh hookah. As the masked nation turned to the pale Greek, he was surprised to see a frown prominent in his face. "We need to talk."

"Not now Hera, come sit down and enjoy the new flavor I got today," Sadiq stalled knowing full well what the younger nation wanted. He would have to distract the child before he got started.

"No, we will talk and you will listen," Heracles said authoritatively staring down at the dark nation as he crossed his arms. He notice the Turk lift his eyebrow behind the mask, getting ready to interject, but he beat him to it. "I will get my freedom whether you like it or not. I'm ready, and if I have to fight... then I'm ready. I've had enough of you protecting me, I can do this on my own."

Sadiq sat there, stunned at the sudden outburst and sighed. He knew this would happen if he held on for too long, but he was also prepared for this.

"Fine," the Turkish man glared at the Greek nation and smirked as he unsheathed his sword and pointed it at his charge. "If you want your own freedom and independence, then fight for it, because if you can't then it proves to me you're not ready."

Heracles kept his face in an angry scowl as he swallowed the lump forming in his throat at the thought of fighting. He didn't want to actually fight Sadiq, he had been the father he never had and was actually nice to him. Now he had to fight him for freedom? Well he wanted freedom now more than ever, so with fire in his pasture green eyes the Greek man nodded in acceptance to the fight that would end their friendly relationship from then on.

"Then get ready, brat."

"Fine, you old bat."

**THE END **


End file.
